


She Wears The Crown

by auroreanrave



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Dark, Gen, Queen Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:42:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auroreanrave/pseuds/auroreanrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is perfectly aware of the cost of sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Wears The Crown

Sansa knows the cost of sacrifice.

She's seen it in the faces of men, the screams of women. She saw it in her father's face every day, every decision he made was about honour and sacrifice and those romantic notions of valour that kept her warm at night with visions of a knight who would come to rescue her from Winterfell with its severe cold and lack of anything.

When the dust settles, she can practically see the bodies of the dead piled from the highest windows of Kings Landing. She knows that she's had to sacrifice her ideals to get where she is - she's seen what murder does to someone, seen what being complicit in the deaths of men can do to someone. She's seen Arya's scars and the haunted look in Brienne's eyes. The darkness that has secured itself around Jon's heart.

Her skirts sweep along the ground of the balcony as she looks out towards the sea. Dusty. It needs sweeping. The bodies of Lannisters and their bannermen line the coast. It's distasteful, but she knows it serves the purpose. She needs to set an example, after all.

Sansa has spent so long hoping and wishing for a way out, biding her time quietly and politely with the grace of a princess and the bite of a wolf just waiting inside her. But she isn't Arya, she can't slit a throat or stab a man.

The way she takes care of her enemies is different. Sansa kills with kindness, venom tempered with sweetness.

She is a _lady_ , after all.

Sansa looks out across her kingdom. There's work to be done in uniting Westeros after all, particularly in the wake of such devastation. The Walkers have taken their toll and the survivors have to have someone to rally behind. She can be that. She can sacrifice her desires to become the figurehead the kingdoms need right now.

Below her, she knows that Jon and Arya and Samwell and Brienne and Mya are waiting for her in the throne room. To hear what she has to say and tell her more news about the state of Westeros. They would kill if she asked them to nicely enough.

Power flows through her, warm and heady and thick. She will be a better queen than those before her. She knows it. Her head carries the crown of ancient kings, of dragon emperors and demon children alike, and it fits _so_ well. It belongs on her head.

Sansa turns from the daylight and begins to descend down the staircase, her hands lifting her skirts gently as she finds her way down the familiar steps. Her home.

The crown – _her_ crown - glints golden in the light and Sansa smiles serenely. Oh, she will _rule_.


End file.
